


¡Mátalo!

by Neinja (Kanja)



Series: D - O - W - N [2]
Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Language, Graphic Description, M/M, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:19:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2005521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanja/pseuds/Neinja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without Willis's help, Jason Body is forced to lean on an unlikely ally in order to reach his brother in time to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	¡Mátalo!

"What do you mean... Jason Brody is here?"

It's fucking hot today. Vaas is fanning down the front of his shirt, sitting in front of an oscillator with a clucking chicken and a gleaming gat across his lap. He is in no mood for bullshit, and yet today, all the bullshit in the world seems to be washing up on his doorstep.

"A la puerta," Rafa supplies.

"What, did he ring the fucking doorbell?"

"Cómo se dice... not exactly," Rafa admits.

 

***

 

"NO PASS," Alejandro booms, keeping Jason at bay with the muzzle of his rifle. The camp’s tall cement gates tower overhead, crowned with rolling barbed wire. He turns his attention to his radio. "Rafa. ¿Qué estás haciendo?"

Static blows out of the feed.

"Mátalo."

"Claro." Alejandro feeds a slug into his weapon and lifts it. He fires before he ever says another word. This is the moment where Jason Brody officially vows that he will learn Spanish -- provided he lives through this insane excursion. Regrettably, he has no chance to ask if anyone might be able to provide him with lessons. A spray of bullets leaves a smoking trail as he dashes out of the way, effectively corralling him all the way to a spot of paltry cover behind a rusted-out sedan.

"Oh, shi--" His shoulder hits the ground first, knocking the wind right out of him. He crouches low and tries to get his breathing in check. "Halt-o! Halt-o! STOP!"

Jason wonders why he bothers. There is never an easy way with Vaas, and to be honest, diplomacy isn’t exactly a good look for him anyway. He knows he’s not only failing to make his intentions clear, but he’s probably offending the gatekeeper too.

Jason throws a fresh clip into his gun, cocking it quickly, tossing caution to the wind and officially ready to mow some motherfuckers down. "I NEED TO TALK TO YOUR BOSS. VAAS!” he yells. “SE HABLA VAAS!"

"AQUI ESTAS! AQUI ESTAS!"

Judging by the thunderous boom of troops moving, it seems to Jason that his request will not be honored. They are the first to open fire, of course, because they are Vaas's guys and that's how he raises them.

Three more men run up to join Alejandro, who is emptying his clip into the place he last saw the fabled Snow White.

"Ven aqui!" Alejandro roars. "Get fucking out!"

Luckily for Jason, this dance isn’t exactly new to him. He’s well-practiced at evading the worst of what Vaas has to throw at him, and now Alejandro’s shoddy marksmanship has bought him enough time to hole up in a good sniping spot.

"If you won't let me in, you die first! And don't think for a second it won't happen -- you motherfuckers know who I am!" Jason’s smart. He yells from one vantage point, then rolls into another. He keeps them guessing. He also keeps screaming, "I need to TALK to VAAS."

An explosion resounds, shaking the earth, scattering fragments of rock and plaster. When the smoke clears, there are still more soldiers filing in, filling in the gaps that their fallen comrades have left behind.

"Where the fuck is he?!"

"Check the wall! CHECK THE WALL!"

Jason’s making progress -- circumstantial progress. He has cut a path through the entrance, but it seems like he won't be alone out here for long. Vaas’s forces are quickly looking inexhaustible.

Jason sighs, and decides to give them the fight that they are asking for.

He heads for the first cover he can find, but in Vaas's camp, ‘cover’ consists of half-built walls and constructs that can only be considered buildings in the most technical sense. There is precious little to his advantage -- or so he thinks, until he spots a large oil tanker sitting fat and pretty smack-dab in the middle of the camp. "Let me talk to Vaas,” he yells, “or I'll blow you all to hell!"

"¿Qué dijiste?"

"¡CALLATE PINCHE GRINGO!"

"¡Aqui, AQUI!"

Jason’s luck only improves. The pirates have formed a semi-circle around the very tanker that Jason has his eye on. Not only that, but Jason can hear the plink-plink-plink of heavy armor casually strolling into the scene.

Ten tons of kevlar and a flamethrower -- just what he fucking needs. Jason realizes he has to act quickly or things are going to get unbearably caliente.

"Ahh, fuck, you guys are stupid."

Run, Forrest, run, Jason thinks bitterly as he lines up the gleaming tanker in his sights.

"Vaas! You’re gonna need smarter guys if you want to keep me out!"

Explosive air rushes up to meet him as a wave of heat passes over his body, smashing him face-first into the ground. It takes him a second before he can move. His ears are singing soundlessly and his limbs will not cooperate. He is in so much pain that he half expects to open his eyes and see Dennis over him again, meticulously working his flesh with those needles of his.

Unfortunately, there is no Dennis, but there is deep-treaded weight on his back and a rifle clicking up above his head. He can hear the screams of Vaas's men melting away.

"Atarlo." The rifle pokes him in the back. "¡No te muevas! No move!"

A blood-stained rope unreels before his eyes, dangling over his nose.

"I gonna tie you, gringo," says one of the meager scatterings of surviving pirates. "No move. You go boss."

Jason doesn’t think the rope is necessary, but he’s a little bit more cooperative now that he knows he’s getting his way. "Finally." Jason lays in the dirt as he’s tied, flexing his wrists so he has that much more leeway just in case he needs to slip and run. With Vaas, it’s always good to have a Plan B. "Fine. Whatever."

Before they’re even near to Vaas’s private corner of hell, Jason can already hear him.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? HUH? WHO DO YOU THINK IS MORE VALUABLE? YOU… OR MY FUCKING TANKER, MOTHERFUCKER?! SPEAK THE FUCK UP SPEAK THE FUCK UP SPEAK THE FU--”

For the first time in history, Jason sees a pirate’s eyes light up at the sight of him. The victim of Vaas’s relentless tirade is genuinely happy for the break. There is also a faint, hooded man delicately wilting in the corner, drooling blood from the last of his teeth. Vaas's knuckles are bloody and his eyes look wild.

"Oh. Hahaha. Hahahaha. Good to see you, my brother, chico, what the fuck is up what the FUCK. Do you think you are FUCKING DOING!?"

The pirate leading Jason nudges the chicken off Vaas's chair with his rifle and sets Jason down in its stead, standing solemnly beside him. Vaas immediately lunges in, both hands clasped on the back of the chair.

"You think you can come in my camp? Dance through my fucking gates, explode my FUCKING OIL?! Nonononononoplease, nonononofuck you." The 'fuck' is punctuated by a pistol pressed to Jason's ear. "Who the FUUUUUUCK. DO YOU THINK. YOU ARE?!"

Jason calmly waits until Vaas is done, barely able to conceal his smirk. "I asked Alejandro very politely to see you.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Vaas spits.

Jason is not to be deterred. “I have a business proposition. Your guy with the flamethrower can corroborate, but I think he went ahead and took care of himself."

"Ohhhhhhh, you're funny today. You make me laugh, Jason, you know that? No, it's not your puta jokes -- I'm laughing because you think that you are bulletproof. My sister put a big idea in your head that you cannot be killed, that you are a WARRIOR, but looooook look-look-look."

Vaas grabs his wrists. Shakes them. Reties his bonds so that the knots are flush against his skin.

"Same fucking story. Again. And a-fuckin-gain and again and again and again and again AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN!!"

The gun in Vaas’s hands gasps, its chamber full now. Vaas does too, waiting for the roar in his mind to subside.

"I don't do business with dead men, Jason. Especially when they do not have the good graces to stay in the fucking ground where I put them."

"I can take over for Hoyt."

Jason lets his proclamation sit, staring into Vaas's eyes, matching the intensity of Vaas's anger with his own stony resolve.

“I can’t die. You can’t kill me. I’ve put more of your men in the ground than I can count.”

"You think I fucking care that these pendejo FUCKS are going home in pieces? Huh? You want to kill this one?" Vaas drags the sobbing pirate over by his neck. His skidding shoes leave trenches in the grime. The pirate collapses at Jason's feet, moaning, and Vaas aims his pistol at his head. "All fucking yours.”

“I don’t want him. I want Hoyt.” Jason feels his voice like a low, feral rumble in his throat. He sounds sick, fevered. He feels vindicated. “Hoyt is stripping this island down. He's the fuck who's messed up everything for everyone." Jason pauses for a moment to let the thought sink in, then quickly proceeds. "Tell me where he is and I'll take him out."

Vaas steps around him, gesturing in his whimsical way.

“Sorry, hermano. The truth is, Hoyt has done things for this island okay -- real fucking things. Before him, what do we have? Pineapples..." He strokes his gun down the pirate's hood, mockingly tender. "Mangoes... Fucking trees. But look around you. Ah? This is fucking progress. And do you know why? Because my boss, he gets wet between the legs thinking about doing what has to be fucking done."

Vaas's hand creeps over Jason's groin. He says a few words: Human traffic. Drugs. Cartels. Smuggling. Then he squeezes harder and draws back his hand, sniffing.

"I do not think the game does it for you, cabrón. I don't think you have the fucking juevos to do what I do."

"I want to fucking own you." Jason does not break his stare, but he’s well aware of the encroaching tightness of his jeans. "I can do better." His pupils have gone wacky, dilated to an impregnable black, but he maintains an eerie facade of calm. “Your shitty camp, your shitty men, your awful fucking movies -- when did this come out? The seventies?”

“It’s a FUCKING CLASSIC,” Vaas roars, jacking the pistol up against Jason’s temple.

“You think Hoyt cares which one of us dies?” Jason continues. His voice is riding octaves, his lips curling in a smirk. “You think he’s gonna back you up when I really come for the kill? When I hunt you down? I’m going to win, Vaas, I’m going to win, and you can win with me, or y--”

"SHUT THE FUCK UP."

That hammer on Vaas’s gun is getting a lot of play. Vaas cocks the pistol and licks his lips and burrows the muzzle into Jason's forehead. Vaas's man draws his rifle too and steps forward.

So much lead is expelled that, for a moment, all that is visible through the smoke and dust and shredded plaster is the TV, where Scarface is merrily shouting, "Fly, pelican, fly!" That Jason can hear it means he’s not dead, shockingly untouched. His eyes strain through the firefight fog.

Vaas looks at the stringy remains of his man and the stain that he is leaving on the floor. He looks at the dusty toes of his boots. He digs the handle of his pistol into his burning eye.

"Hey," he moans, kicking at the fresh corpse at his feet. "Wake up. I SAID WAKE THE FUCK U-- Okay, fuck you, good-bye, you're fired. Nononononoplease, you're fired. You?"

The toothless man Vaas had savaged earlier puts his hands up warily, whimpering. Vaas arches a brow and steps over him.

"You see that?" he asks, swaying to the side so that Jason can have a better look at the crispy remains of the man who had apprehended everyone’s favorite gringo warrior. "That man is dead right now. That man is dead because you..."

He breathes in through his nose, grabbing Jason's shirt in his fist.

"Because you want it this way. Okay? Are you with me so far, Jason? ANSWER ME, ARE YOU WITH ME SO FUCKING FAR?!"

"Yes." Jason doesn't even blink. Death is a sure thing around him. He has seen so much of it that he doesn’t really feel it anymore. “He won’t be the last. Until I get my brother back, you can count on a lot more bodies.”

"You're not fucking listening to meee you are not fucking listening," says Vaas, halfway between a croon and a dirge. He slams his boot down with a decisive thud on the sole surviving pirate's neck. Experimentally, he lifts his foot up. The pirate wheezes, eliciting a frown from his boss.

"I killed for you, motherfucker."

WHAM.

"I took MY FUCKING GUN--"

SLAM.

"AND I PUT A FUCKING BULLET--"

CRUNCH.

"BETWEEN HIS FUCKING EYES. OKAY? This, I don't like. I don't LIKE... killing for people, okay, it's just... the idea...of depopulating the world -- papapapow -- decimation, culling the herd, all that happy horse shit, I don't like it, okay? I DON'T. Like to kill for someone else’s agenda. You hear me, hermano?"

He crouches beside the gored remains of the last survivor.

"I'm an artist. What I do is a fucking art okay, what I do is a noble pursuit. I'm very fucking good at it -- what I don't LIKE -- What I don't like is for my art to be exploited, I don't like my art unappreciated. Look at this, this deserves to be… in some kind of fucking gallery eh?"

He lifts the toothless, neckless thing up in his arms, laughing.

"Look, his jaw twisted backwards. I gotta fucking Instagram this shit."

Oddly enough, it feels good for Jason to be around someone more deranged than himself. It puts things in perspective. It makes him feel like maybe he can come back from this.

“So be an artist. Be a photographer. I did it; I know sick fucks back in the States who’d pay top dollar for shit like that. No strings attached.” It’s a little disgusting how true that is. Back home, Jason knows that money can buy you mostly anything, but it especially buys anonymity and unchecked perversions. “It’s the American way. I just figured you would want to help me kill the man who's holding you back. I wouldn't hold you back."

Vaas sniffs, nostrils flaring. He keeps his eyes on the dead pirate for a few moments more, then shoves him back into a slump on the ground.

His gait is slow -- not unsteady, but he does not look like he is walking any path of this world either.

Vaas finally settles down on Jason's lap, leaning in close to his ear, sending shivers down his spine. He whispers, "Formula... five... two."

"Formula five-two?" Jason asks.

"That's my price. Do you...do you think I would do this just because I like you, Jason? Do you think that just because I..." His fingers trace a path down Jason's chest. "Made you...scream my name...that I will join this fucked little operations of yours... Nooooo no no. No no no please."

He leans his jaw against Jason's temple, exhaling into his hair.

"I want what Hoyt fucking has. And he? He doesn't want to give it to me so YOU-- You are going to--" His fingers march up Jason's neck. "Like this, get the formula, bring the finished product back to me. Here, a fucking gift, a show of my good will."

Vaas leans down, tugging the dead pirate's mask off. He lovingly drapes it over Jason's head, murmuring, "Dashing, fucking stylish no?"

Jason is left to wonder what it is about Vaas and the way that he moves, the way that fires off every nerve in his body. Every touch is another drop of gasoline on the fire that’s already burning deep inside him. Even if Jason hasn’t developed a taste for Vaas’s preferred artistic medium, he can appreciate the art of his hands, the aesthetics of his striking gaze.

"You could have just said so to begin with." Inside the mask, he’s grinning like a fool. This little fucked up world of his is making more and more sense by the minute, while Santa Monica drowns under a fog.

The philosophies that have gotten him this far are so much simpler than the ones in play at home: If you want something, take it. If someone else wants something, use them. He has been taking ever since he woke up to Dennis and the fresh ink on his skin: taking lives, taking money, taking weapons, taking drugs, taking Liza.

And in Vaas, he sees that philosophy at its most extreme, honed to perfection. Yesterday, before Liza had betrayed him, before his own mind had betrayed him, this would have made him sick to his stomach, but now...

"Yeah, sure, Vaas. It's perfect." He quickly adds, "Just be ready when I get back. I don't want to take on his whole army by myself if I don't have to. It'd be a giant waste of my time."

Something gives Vaas a delighted chill, his shoulders shaking and his toes wiggling like worms. "Fuck fuck fuck." Vaas is laughing. Maybe. With Vaas, it’s always hard to tell. "You're really gonna fuckin' do this. Okay-y. Okay. Just...a warning, hermano, from meeeeee to fucking you."

His fingers splay around Jason’s neck, pressing into his esophagus.

"Cuidado, whiteboy. There will always be another bigger, badder wolf than you ah? Bigger than Hoyt, bigger than you, bigger than all the PUTRID FUCKS. Who come here. And say to me noooooooooo." Vaas isn't even aware that he is choking Jason, and it shows in his far-away eyes. "No fuck you, nothing for you okay NOTHING. For you. Huh? You hear me right now?"

Back in reality, Vaas releases his neck, then tugs down one eye of the balaclava he's suited Jason with, peering inside to ascertain that he hasn't accidentally strangled his ticket out of hell.

"Point taken." Jason coughs and blinks at Vaas, his throat sore. “If I fuck up, you can just save some face and pick me off. Hoyt never has to know. That will not happen, though. And as long as you have my back, you'll get everything you want and you won't have to answer to any of them. I won't let them touch a hair on your fucking head."

"I don't know how I feel about that," Vaas coos, catching the mouth-hole of the balaclava on his fingertip, pulling it down, "after all the good your protection did your brother."

He hovers his smirk just a moment away from Jason's lips. Vaas knows full well what he’s doing; he’s looking right at Jason’s mouth when Jason finally succumbs to a frown.

"You killed him." Jason drinks deeply of Vaas’s breath, but that still does not change his icy tone.

"Me? Nooooo... Me?" Vaas traces the frayed rim of the mask with his lower lip. "You, Jason. Your hermano, he was a big deal army tough guy, si? Do you think that it makes any FUCKING SENSE that he died...on the ground...laid out like a fucking whore… A warrior dies on his fucking feet okay? You have yet to thank me for the favor I did for you-- it's okay, it's okay... it's fine."

As if attuned to the knife on Jason’s belt, Vaas's fingers find it in an instant. Jason feels the tip of his own blade scratching at his Adam’s apple.

"You will repay me soon enough. Your brother...for my sister. Neat and fucking tidy -- ah? And then we both are... finally...fucking free." The knife flips in his hand, from blade to hilt, and Vaas presses the cool steel against Jason's cheek.

Vaas’s message is clear and hitting home. Jason’s the one. Jason’s the warrior. Jason has surpassed Grant. And Grant is the sacrifice that he needed to make to embrace his bloody destiny.

Jason's neck arches, following the line of the blade as it traces its way upwards. "For freedom."

Vaas speaks into Jason’s lips. "I would not hold you back."

Jason's eyes roll back into his head as he allows his senses to take in absolutely everything: the moist breath between them, Vaas’s surprisingly tender lips, the words he always wanted to hear from his friends, the ones they won’t say but Vaas readily will.

"Then I'll never lose." His breaths are now shallow and demanding. Jason becomes keenly aware of just how out of control he is for the first time since he stormed into Vaas’s camp. "If you let me out of th--”

"I will set you free, whiteboy." Vaas's hips rise and fall in a slow grind. The hiss of his breath is quick and staggered, an attempt to get Jason to mirror the sensuous rhythm he intends. "I will show you...how to break any bond...how to release yourself..."

Vaas trains Jason well and trains him quickly. Jason’s always been sensitive, but with Vaas, he is under a spell. He’s helpless to do anything but enjoy the ride, his body entirely complacent and disturbingly malleable when it comes to Vaas’s bandaged, bloody fingers. "And how will I do that?" he asks, impatient to be loose of his bonds, to feel Vaas’s body crushed beneath his hands.

"I will show you..." Vaas purrs, flicking his tongue into Jason's mouth. It catches behind his teeth, luring him in -- but before their lips can meet, he stops. "... Once I have my formula."

He cracks himself up sliding off of Jason's lap. The electricity flowing through Jason’s spine ramps right up into overdrive, invoking a full-body numbness. When Vaas pulls away, Jason feels a brand new kind of pain.

With his head still swimming, all Jason can do is nod and try to get his eyes to focus. Despite it all, he speaks with a soft sincerity. "Yeah. Don't worry, I'll get it.

Vaas pries the rifle out of the pirate's cold, dead hands, using his knife to hack at the fingers that do not come loose easily. Once that's done, he sweeps his blade across the ropes binding Jason to his chair, tossing the rifle into his lap. "Keep in touch, ah?" he snickers.

Pulling himself together, Jason nods once as he loads the rifle. "Yeah." As he turns to leave, a thought occurs to him, compelling Jason to turn back and smile. “If your men aren’t gonna play nice, at least let them know not to hold hands around a tanker next time?”

"Fucking don't come back here." Vaas takes Jason's seat now, searching the floor for the remote to the television set. He starts clicking up the volume until the set is echoing loud. "I FUCKING MEAN THAT. Jason fucking Brody is not welcome on this island, in our camps, fucking nowhere. You're gonna have to be someone else if you wanna work with me, hermano."

"Mmhmm." Jason's concession is pretty damn non-committal. "Well, I guess it's your sister's lucky day, then."

He laughs at his own joke, but it’s only a moment before his eyes flatten and lose their glow all over again. "Jason Brody's already dead so you won't have to worry about him ever again.”

"Remind me to send flowers to his fucking funeral."

On screen, Al Pacino is painting his mansion red. There is nothing to see beyond gore and vaporized furniture, but Vaas leans in anyway, waving a hand in the air.

"Okay, fuck off, hasta luego, see you in hell, pendejo."

Jason walks away, waving over his shoulder.

"You know we're already there."


End file.
